


when I'm with you (time doesn't matter)

by Imiaslavie



Series: i trust (in your arms on my body) [Remile AU] [2]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (or rather something soft resembling it), Alternate Universe - Human, Coming In Pants, Domestic, Grinding, Kissing, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Nipple Play, Self-Indulgent, Sloppy Makeouts, Spit Kink, Subspace, Trust, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18898987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imiaslavie/pseuds/Imiaslavie
Summary: There's an unspoken agreement — unspoken, but known of, through Remy's flushed cheeks, through Emile's heated gazes — that the next time they would touch each other, it would last for hours.





	when I'm with you (time doesn't matter)

**Author's Note:**

> Boi... the second part. 'Cause I haven't indulged myself enough and I deserve more spit kink. Just give me those wet smooth spit-covered pecs..........
> 
> Not beta-ed.

Their kisses become softer in the following days.

Remy doesn't feel awkward anymore giving Emile off-to-work and welcome-home pecks on the cheek. It's obvious from his body language. It's a nice change. Means Remy doesn't feel like a guest in this house anymore.

They exchange quick casual kisses when cooking or watching movies. Emile leaves swift kisses at Remy's temple when he brings him a cup of hot chocolate. Remy gives him loud playful _mwah_ -kisses of excitement when he gets another part of his project done.

They kiss in bed.

They hold hands and listen to each other's breath and cuddle under the blanket.

There's nothing sexual between them after that day when they learned new things about each other and got the first taste of real intimacy.

It's not that they don't want to do more. But Emile sees Remy enjoying the sudden domesticity.

And they both are deadly tired after long working hours.

And there's an unspoken agreement — unspoken, but known of, through Remy's flushed cheeks, through Emile's heated gazes — that the next time they would touch each other, it would last for hours.

So they both wait.

Another week passes. Friday is long and tiring but Saturday surprises Emile with good weather and two of his clients postponing their sessions. He gets home just after midday, a brown paper bag with pastries in his hand. A smile stretches his lips when he hears the rhythmic booming sounds of music from upstairs.

Remy is home too.

Emile sets his things on the counter, washes his hands, takes a swing of icy cold citrus juice, bitter on his tongue.

He is thrilled with anticipation.

He walks up the stairs, his sock-clad feet gliding on the wood. The door to the bedroom is wide open.

Remy is lying across the bed, typing furiously on his phone. Sunlight makes him almost glow with soft peach colors, the hairs on his arm white with the light. He wears a simple T-shirt and a pair of thin home pants. Perfect.

“Who are you chatting with?”

Remy shoots up, his hair flopping in a funny way. The music stops.

“Emi, babe, hey! Didn't know you would be home this early.”

Emile shoots him a wide smile and moves towards the wardrobe. He searches through the drawer until he finds an old washed-out tank top and a pair of soft fleece pants.

“So who is it?” he asks, loosening his tie.

Remy watches him with wide eyes. “Virgil. He keeps giving me shit for not telling about you sooner. He... ” Emile takes off his cardigan, unbuttons the shirt. “He, uh. Not. Um. He's just. Teasing. Like a little bitch he is. ” Emile hums a do-go-on sound, folding the shirt. The tank top fits loosely on him, the straps threatening to fall down his shoulders. “They actually, um... ” The belt goes off with a loud clank. “Want to... ” The zipper slides down. “Meet us? Meet you. Someday. ” The pants fall down. Emile steps out of them and bends to pick them up. Remy gulps. “Um. What do you say?”

_I say that you being in a loss for words is endearing._

“I say it's a wonderful idea!” Emile says, tugging on the fleece pants. “I would love to meet your friends.”

Emile finally turns around and faces Remy. Oh, what a sight he is... Such an open expression on his face.

Remy puts the phone down.

Emile cocks his head.

Remy makes grabby hands towards him.

Emile obliges.

They meet in a soft kiss. Remy's tongue tastes slightly of strawberries. He must've been eating those rock candies again. Emile's palms come to rest either side of Remy's neck, the skin hot and slightly damp. Remy's hair tickles Emile's cheek, and he giggles, breaking the kiss.

They look into each other eyes. Remy's eyelashes are flattering.

“You better put your phone on silent, honey,” Emile whispers. "We don't want to be interrupted, do we?”

Remy smirks. “It's turned off.”

And then he tugs Emile forward, making him lose his balance. They both laugh, wiggle on the bed, shuffling higher, until Remy's head is resting comfortably on the pillow. Emile lies alongside him, pressed tightly against his right side.

Their lips meet once more, Emile licking into Remy's mouth, circling his tongue around his, tasting the inside of his lower lip. Remy rubs his parted lips over Emile's, making them wet with spit. Emile sighs happily, rubs their noses together.

Remy is breathing in short huffs, little whiny sounds already falling from his lips. His hands get under Emile's tank top and caress his sides, draw the man closer.

“Remy.” Emile leaves a kiss under his jaw. “I'm going to take your shirt off.”

Remy's whole body shudders. He nods and leverages himself on his elbows. Emile doesn't make him wait long. He grabs the bottom of the T-shirt, tugs the fabric up, quickly guides Remy's head and arms through the holes and throws the item behind them.

Oh, and what a sight does Remy make...

Almost enchanted, Emile watches the steady rise and fall of Remy's chest. His skin is smooth, without a single hair and already a bit tanned by the first sunny weeks of the summer.

Emile leans closer and pushes the right nipple with the tip of his tongue. It's almost nothing... but Remy chokes, his hand flying up to take Emile by the back of his neck. Emile chuckles, wraps his lips around the nipple and sucks it into the heat of his mouth. He sets a fast rhythm of sucking and licking and scraping the overly sensitive bud with his teeth. He flicks it, licks a wide stripe across it, catches it between his lips and tugs it up gently. Remy doesn’t fall silent even for a second, whimpering and gasping and making small screams of pleasure, pushing his body up us if he wants more. Well. He only needs to ask once.

Emile shifts a little and, before Remy can even form a protest, lays his palm over the left pec and squeezes it.

Remy cries out, the word _Harder_ falling from his lips, and after that he is completely lost to the world… for Emile starts palming both of his pecs with a gentle force.

Remy’s skin is soft, goosebumps running over it. He lets out thin whiny sighs each time Emile brushes thumbs over his nipples, gasps for breath each time Emile applies a little too much pressure.

Remy looks at him through the veil of tears, lashes sticking together. The way his eyes are unfocused makes heat curl at the bottom of Emile’s stomach. His cock is half-hard but he has no way of getting any sort of friction unless he moves, and he won’t move, not with how perfectly his arms frame Remy’s body, not before he makes Remy reach his peak.

Emile pinches the nipples and twists them. Remy bites his lip, trying to hold in his moan, but Emile is having none of that: he slides his tongue between Remy’s lips, urges him to open his mouth — and tugs the nipples with force. Instead of the anticipated scream there’s a choking gasp escaping Remy’s throat, almost like he has no air left in his lungs, but his body starts shifting and locking up in a familiar way, so Emile tightens the grip his palms have on each pec and starts kneading them in a forceful caress.

Remy’s breath speeds up immediately, his moans so thin and short and airy. Emile’s hands build up a rhythm too, build up speed and power. It’s almost like stroking a cock to completion.

Emile feels that Remy is close, reads it in the way his breaths shorten more and more, in the way he opens his legs and thrusts his hips into the air. His face and chest are flushed red. Sweat covers his skin, making the glide of Emile’s palms smoother. Almost there, almost there..!

Following his instinct, Emile gives both nipples a hard, probably painful, three-seconds-long pinch — and then abruptly lets go, jerking his hands away, and covers Remy’s mouth with his own.

Remy arches up, his scream muffled by the tongue Emile slips into his mouth. His hips buck with such a force that his cock finally brushes against Emile’s thigh. Emile takes mercy at him and palms it through the wet fabric of the pants, jerking it a couple of times to milk the last drops of cum.

Powerless, Remy falls to the bed. A string of spit drags between their mouths but breaks almost too fast for Emile to really enjoy it. Almost. His cock now aches too much to ignore it. He shifts, straddling Remy’s thick thigh, and humps it. He doesn’t need much. He comes with a low groan, his own thighs trembling, his palms gliding over the sweaty skin of Remy’s stomach.

Through the haze Emile watches Remy slide a hand over his own chest, inhaling sharply. The sounds of their broken breaths mix together. The strap of Emile’s tank top finally slides down his shoulder, the fabric feeling too rough. His cum cools quickly in his pants.

“I’m not done with you,” Emile breaths out. He hurries to take off his tank top, sliding off Remy’s thigh, fumbles with his pants and underwear. The warm air feels cool against his heated skin. Remy’s pants are next, flying off to the same corner, and he isn’t even wearing anything under them.

Emile lies down, almost like before, only now his leg is thrown over Remy’s thigh. It’s not awkward, being naked together for the first time. It feels natural, like they’ve done it a lot of times.

Emile absentmindedly noses at Remy’s armpit, inhaling the smell of sweat, licks the salt of the line of his neck. He thinks Remy doesn’t mind. Judging by the soft encouraging murmurs and a gentle hand coming to play with his hair — he doesn’t.

Emile shifts a bit more to make sure his neck won’t become stiff, and sets his chin carefully over Remy’s ribs — and brushes his lips over the right nipple. It’s a feathery light touch, a request for permission. He gets his answer when Remy exhales and nudges Emile’s head forward by applying the tiniest amount of pressure on his neck.

Emile closes his mouth over the areola, his tongue moving in gentle circles. There’s no need to rush now.

Remy makes little relaxed moaning sounds. They make Emile’s mouth water. He gathers spit on his tongue and then licks a stripe across the pec, purposefully wetting the skin. He does it again and again, making sure to lick every part, and rubs his cheek against it, almost purring with pleasure.

He returns his attention to the nipple, nips at it, gives it slow licks, sucks it without any real force. The world around gradually fades away. He lets his head rest on Remy’s shoulder, puts his open mouth over the nipple and lets his eyes fall shut. His tongue keeps lapping lazily, his lips sometimes closing around the nipple and giving it a couple of sucky motions. A haze comes over his mind, a sensation of bliss and soft, quiet pleasure, waves of warmth shutting everything else off.

Time passes but doesn’t matter. They don’t have anything else to do. They’re too spent for lust to return. There’s just warm, wet, slick motion of his tongue against the skin, just the steady rise and fall of the body against his cheek.

Emile feels like he is weightless.

There isn’t a single thought in his head.

Pleasure pulsating under his skin.

Smooth wetness.

Heat.

And…

Something… something new. What’s this? He is being moved? Air cools his wet cheek. What is...

Heat invades his mouth. It touches him, touches his… gums. Hard palate. Tongue. His tongue. He is being kissed. 

A faint taste of strawberries.

Remy?

Emile shudders, blinks his eyes open. Remy’s face is so close. They’re kissing. Remy’s tongue prods at his. Emile answers, twists it around Remy’s, licks the underside, reaches farther to the throat…

He starts to feel the heat of the sun on his spine and ass and legs. Feel the weight of Remy’s thigh against his own. Feel the hand on his waist. Feel the curves of Remy’s chest pressing against him.

Emile stops the kiss, exhales… Rubs his nose against Remy’s.

“Hey,” Remy says softly.

“Hey,” Emile echoes. Next words come out on their own. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

Emile smiles. “I haven’t felt like that in a long time.” Remy doesn’t press him, doesn’t ask to explain what ‘like that’ means. Emile swallows. “Maybe I’ve never felt like that. With anyone.”

Remy watches him carefully, catching each his word. “Why? You… dated. I know you did.”

Emile finds Remy’s hand and takes it in his.

“It requires a certain level of trust from me. And certain… behavior from a person.” Emile smiles once more. “You were perfect.”

Remy gets that look on his face like he was just given something he’s always dreamed of and covets more than anything else in the world. He smiles.

They embrace each other.

**Author's Note:**

> My energy for this series is almost non-existent at this point, but I really want to write more, sometime, about Emile really indulging his spit kink.


End file.
